


Slap

by corn_nut_to_rook_seven



Category: BBC Sherlock
Genre: M/M, Minor Violence, a bit of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-16
Updated: 2017-08-16
Packaged: 2018-12-16 01:38:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11818494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corn_nut_to_rook_seven/pseuds/corn_nut_to_rook_seven
Summary: Sebastian is awoken from a nightmare.





	Slap

Gunfire.  
All of it was nearly mute in his head now. Desensitized by years of being thrown into the noises, the violence. The death.  
Pain.  
He'd been hit in the leg, and he screamed a silent scream.  
He fell onto his back, right next to a dead comrade. Sebastian turned his head, and to his horror, there he was.  
James’ eyes bore into his own, although James’ eyes…  
They were dead. Void of any life. Before Seb could react, a silhouette hovered over him, and Sebastian was unable to make out a face. But he recognized the familiar movement: the rifle being pointed at his face, right between his eyes, and Sebastian pleading uselessly for his life before-

A soft voice. 

“Sebastian?”

The soldier sat up, panting hard, his ribs caging his bursting lungs, his heart stuttering as his speech would. Sebastian raises his hand up, feels his forehead. Damp.  
Wet from sweat. Fear.  
Not blood.

“Sebby.”

The voice came again, and for a moment, he thinks it's in his head. He turns to see James there, alive and well, sitting there in the bed next to him. He looks concerned, with his back straight and his eyes shining with gentle worry. “Sweetheart, you had a nightmare.”

“I know,” Sebastian says pointedly. Jim's hand finds Sebastian's back, and he starts rubbing soothing circles in the middle, hoping to calm him like he always does.

“It’s okay, love,” he hears, and it's nothing like the James Moriarty Sebastian knows.

It's pissing him off for some reason.

If he were awake, sober from his nightmares, he'd appreciate the gentleness in his voice, the sweet gaze upon his face, the genuine tender touches rubbing into his back. He'd adore it. 

But he hates it.

He hates it in this drugged mind of his, caught in the disoriented fog where nothing is right, nothing is okay.

“Come on, it's alright. Lean back, just rest, okay?” Seb feels a gentle hand on his shoulder, and his hand shoots out and shoves at Jim’s smaller chest. James moves with the force, sitting back onto the mattress next to Sebastian.

“Stop touching me.”

“Hey, it's alright, I'm not gonna hurt you--”

“Stop talking.” He hears the mattress moving, and that's Jim coming closer, he can feel his body heat, warm, warmer..

“Sebats--”

“I told you to shut up!”

Seb’s hand swings blindly, simply wanting Jim to leave him the hell alone. The back of his hand meets the side of Jim’s face, he realizes, and before he knows it, he's hit him.

Jim’s head had whipped so violently to the side, caught completely off guard by the slap. He gasps sharply, feeling his cheek burn with the pain, his nerves on fire. His first instinct is simply the hurt, the pain of the attack. But then it churns, turning to angry tears that he'd never let fall as long as he lived.

"Oh my god..."

Sebastian was wide awake now.  
It snapped him him out of his haze, and now he only stared as Jim said nothing, remaining in the position he was in.

"Fuck, I.. oh my god..."

Jim's breathing was even. So soft and so gentle, as his words were earlier.  
He didn't know why Sebastian reacted in such a way. To hit him? He didn't know how to deal with it.

"Jim, I didn't-I didn't mean to..."

The memories that had taken so long to banish came flooding back to him. Flooding, flooding, making his eyes water even more. The feelings from years ago that he had torn to shreds reformed, clawing at his chest, yearning to take over and spill those damned tears. The abuse. The yelling. Everything. So fucking unappreciated. 

This wasn't about him. But Sebastian had slapped him. 

Sebastian had hurt him.

Intentionally.

The only one James had trusted with his life, his body, his work… and he hurts him. Sebastian wasn't supposed to hurt him. Sebastian was the one who wasn't supposed to make it hurt. Sebastian was supposed to make it better. He was supposed to make everything better.

A hand reaches out and touches his shoulder, feather-light, and Jim immediately swats it away. He straightens up, and he stares directly at Sebastian, who's face is one of fear and concern, moonlight shining on his weary face and his beautiful blue eyes. Jim just wanted to scratch them out.

“I'm sorry,” he says. “You were just trying to help, and that’s--"

“Get out,” Jim whispers, voice wavering unintentionally. He’s on the verge of tears, waiting to quickly landslide Jim into a sobbing mess. Sebastian frowns at him, confused. “I don't want you in this room, I don't want you near me, I don't want to see your face. Get. Out.”

Sebastian raises his hand again, sliding up to cup the side of Jim's face, and Jim immediately scoots back, scowling at him. “Don't fucking touch me.”

“Jim please, I didn't mean-”

“Get out!” The criminal’s voice had risen to a yell, and Sebastian quickly scoots back as well, off the side of the bed with a comical thump. Jim doesn't think it's funny this time, and he reaches behind him to fumble for something in the nightstand. “Hurry up and get out!” Sebastian stands, trying to get back into the bed.

“Just let me-”

“GET OUT!” Jim roars, a boxcutter grabbed from the nightstand drawer and suddenly in his hand. The blade was small and stocky, but well taken care of. The edge was razor sharp, Sebastian could see. “I’M GOING TO PAINT THE WALLS WITH YOUR BLOOD IF YOU DON’T GET OUT RIGHT NOW! GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT!”

Sebastian didn't need to be told once again. He scrambled back as the criminal expertly slid off the bed, and he all but rocketed out of the room. James stopped at the door, and he slammed it closed behind the sniper, leaning his back against it and breathing heavily. 

He throws the boxcutter across the room, hearing it land with a heavy thump onto their carpet, and he clutches at his hair, trying to calm his breathing, calm his heart, calm his lungs.

He slid down to his knees. His hands covered his face, shielding his eyes from an unseen audience.

And he sobbed.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry my writing sucks, aaaa  
> Leave comments, they're very appreciated :::^) and be honest, I don't care if you're mean, as long as it's constructive.  
> A aand lemme know if there are spelling mistakes and I'll fix em ASAP


End file.
